


Fapception

by mustachio



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-07
Updated: 2012-06-07
Packaged: 2017-11-07 04:01:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/426713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mustachio/pseuds/mustachio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Salai fantasizes about Leonardo fantasizing about Ezio fapping while he faps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fapception

In the beginning, he resented the assassin. Even though he shared Leonardo's bed, even though he was the one that always received the inventor's affections, it was Ezio that was always in Leonardo's thoughts. He resented the man, without even knowing him, because he was jealous. Why should Leonardo love someone who is hardly ever there for him when Salai is always there? Sure he likes to spend a great deal of time gambling and drinking, but he always comes back. Ezio-- he almost never comes back and he's seen the stress it causes Leonardo when he doesn't know what's happening to him. Salai knows that if he were to disappear for months at a time, Leonardo would have the same reaction, that Leonardo loves him too, but it's different. He doesn't love Salai the way he loves Ezio and in the beginning, he resented the Auditore for that.

But then he met Ezio. He met Ezio and then Leonardo was captured and Ezio brought him back. He couldn't resent the man after that. Not when he brought his master back, not when he stayed with them all that time and made sure that Leonardo would be okay. He couldn't resent Ezio when he tried to comfort him after seeing how distressed he was over everything that had happened. After that he was grateful for Ezio, grateful for the protection that he gave Leonardo, and grateful that even though he was hardly ever there, he provided Leonardo with a happiness that no one else seemed to be able to give him; not him, not Melzi, no one save for the assassin.

It was shortly after that when his fantasies changed. Where he would once fantasize about Leonardo and Leonardo alone, he know fantasized about something a little different - something involving Ezio.

He sucks in a shaky breath as his hand moves down his length, his eyes shut, and clothes thrown haphazardly somewhere on the floor. In his mind he can see Leonardo naked, aroused, and with a hand gripped around himself on his bed. It's one of his favorite fantasies, the one where Leonardo is pleasuring himself and if he hadn't done this quite a few times already, he'd probably be pretty close to finished already at the mental image of it. He imagines Leonardo running his hand up and down his shaft, in very much the same way he's doing to himself. He imagined the shuttered breaths the artist gives and the way his fist curls into the sheets just for something to do while he is so focused on what his other hand is doing. There's a soft gasp of someone's name -- Ezio's -- and Salai does the same with Leonardo's name. In his fantasy Leonardo imagines Ezio and it's different to imagine someone imagining another person, but god he'd be lying if he said he didn't get off on it.

Ezio is rougher with himself than Leonardo and Salai are with themselves. His grip is tighter, his pumps are rougher, and the calluses on his hands provide a different sensation altogether. His were created from climbing buildings, fighting, and using weapons they have no real experience with. It provides a friction that Salai can't really get on his own, but the idea of it, the image of Ezio handling himself with those hands of his is enough to get a loud, throaty moan from him. One day, he thinks, Salai would like to feel those hands on him. He would like to feel that unique friction for himself and not just through an image in his head of Ezio touching himself. Leonardo's calluses are from his paint brushes, his tools, and building things no one else would ever dream of. Salai knows what those hands feel like, knows what the fantasy Leonardo must feel while he strokes himself, when he squeezes and jerks his hips up into that hand. He knows and that gets an even louder moan out of him and it's a good thing he's the only one in the workshop right now because there's no way he would have gone unheard that time.

Their hands are tougher, have more of those rough patches of skin than Salai's who has experience with the paint brush, with the climbing of buildings, but not like them. His hands are softer, don't give as much friction and no matter how many times he bucks his hips, no matter how rough he makes his strokes he can't seem to get that same feeling he's imagining they have when they do this, but he wants it -- oh god, does he want it -- and the desire he feels for it is enough for him resolve to find someway to get Ezio in his bed, preferably with Leonardo.

Leonardo, in his mind, imagines that Ezio does not take long to get to his completion -- he does not take long, but that does not mean it is enough. He wants more, needs more, strokes himself to hardness again and continues until he comes. He repeats this at least three more times until he forces himself to stop. It's like an addiction, this insatiable hunger for orgasm after orgasm. He tortures himself, removing his hand and refraining from touching himself again despite his obvious need for another climax. He moans quite loudly when he does this, almost as if he's trying to coax himself into continuing but he never does. He moans and writhes against the sheets, but he waits and forces himself to suffer. This imaginary Ezio never does get his orgasm. He is left in the fantasy world, naked and legs open, moaning and groaning and arching and writhing on that bed and left to suffer because for the imaginary Leonardo, that's where the fantasy is forced to a shattering finish. That image of such a desperate Ezio -- one in such need of release it nearly makes him weep -- sends him over the edge. That image, Salai thinks, would be enough to send Leonardo over the edge all by itself.

Orgasm for the artist is quite the experience. It comes hard, and he arches his back, gives himself a few more hard strokes as he rides it out. His eyes are squeezed shut and his face is twisted into an expression of unimaginable ecstasy. He is constantly calling out Ezio's name, a sort of thanks to his fantasy for giving him the means to come to this satisfying climax. He lies still for a long time, still in too much pleasure to bring himself to move, so he stays in place, breathing heavily and occasionally bucking his hips into his hand which still rests in his shaft. He's not looking to make himself hard again, but he can't help it. It's almost like a reflex to look for more of that sensation that gave him a finish like that and in his mind (really Salai's mind trying to guess at what Leonardo would be thinking at a time like this) he comes to the conclusion that this is what Ezio must have felt like when his first orgasm wasn't enough. Unlike his imaginary Ezio, though, his second one satisfies his desire quite a bit.

Salai does not find release or satisfaction the way his imaginary Leonardo does. In his mind he has seen multiple orgasms from two different people, he has imagined things that should have sent him over the edge already, but now -- now he feels farther than ever from what he wants. He pumps, arches, squeezes, does whatever he can to feel more, more, more, but it just isn't enough. It feels as though every image he'd used to get himself off only made things worse. Made him so aroused that there just isn't enough he can do to find his release. He moans and moans but the noises he makes are more like whine than moans -- so needy, so desperate. Eventually he does get there and when he does it is so intense that he can only see white. He can only grip the sheets, grip himself, and gasp for air. He's loud when he comes. He doesn't know if anyone returned while he wasn't paying attention, it's possible that he is no longer alone and if that's the case he has no doubt that whoever is there can hear him calling out Ezio and Leonardo's names because both had a hand in this, at least indirectly. He can't bring himself to care now, though. He's much too focused on riding out his orgasm, too focused on getting as much pleasure as he can in these last few moments.

Perhaps he should have cared more. Perhaps if he had cared more he would have heard the door open, the voices that abruptly stopped at the calling of their names, and the all too telling manner in which they were said. But perhaps it's better for him that he didn't care to quite himself. He did want to try having both of them in his bed at some point, didn't he? Perhaps this would be the perfect way to make that happen. Yes, perhaps in the end it is better that the two men in his fantasies knew just what he dreamed about when he is alone.


End file.
